


clouds crash (on the hillside)

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Wingfic, canon compliant character death, im cri, uh fight scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 13:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11149341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Even with wings, they still found a way to fall in every way possible.





	clouds crash (on the hillside)

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song Clouds Crash by the Matches. it was so much fun working with my [artist](http://aideryn.tumblr.com/) !!!!! ah but the completed artworks arent up on their tumblr yet, because of another writer thats written a fic for the art (keep an eye out for it!)

He names the sky his own  
His wax wings beat heavily, freeing him and weighing him down simultaneously.  
The seagulls that cried softly beside him regarded him with a wary and curious eye, for they knew that humanity had been long searching for the wings of freedom.  
Icarus didn't bother containing his glee as he sliced through the air on his fragile wax wings. His father, however, glanced anxiously from the sparkling and seemingly endless sea below to the sprawling blue sky and blazing sun above them.  
Icarus swooped through the air again, grin only widening as he glanced down at his father who was much more controlled in his flying.  
He turned his large eyes towards the clouds, faintly listening to a call from the sky. His wax wings paused and fluttered in the open sky for a fraction of a second as he listened closer to the song being sung from the clouds.  
The melody tugged at his soul and feathers, the siren song of the sun filling his head and blocking out his surroundings. Faintly, Icarus registered his father's cries, but he chose to ignore them, instead keeping his entire focus on the sun's bright light and alluring call.  
And so, Icarus stepped into the blazing sun.

 

 

The sun rose over Brooklyn like it always did, it's golden light snaking it's way into every nook and cranny.  
It hovered in the horizon behind Steve and Bucky, warming their wings in the morning chill. The Brooklyn streets were bustling even at the early hour, a bustling bundle of noise and activity as students and adults made their way to school and work.  
Steve brushed his bangs out of his eyes, glancing over at Bucky and stretching out his feathers.

'Buck, does the sky ever, I dunno- call to you, I guess?'

Bucky glanced down at Steve (he was already at least a head taller than him), his blue eyes meeting Steve's.  
'Whaddya mean,' he asks, jamming his thumbs into his torn trouser pockets and kicking a rock into their path.  
'Like, um' Steve shrugs, struggling to find the right words. 'Like, the sun kinda sings or something? And your wings kinda tickle and the your heart feels like it's gettin’ tugged at?' He stares down at the sidewalk, kicking at the same rock Bucky had been kicking at.  
Bucky's gaze is still on him, and he feels oddly self-conscious in those few awkward seconds.  
'Shit, Steve,' Bucky runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a small laugh. 'Um, now that you mention it, I guess?'  
A weight that Steve didn't realize weighed in his chest floats away, and he lets out a small sigh of relief that he's not the only one that hears the sun's siren call.

The school building is finally in view, the chain link fence separating the children from the outside world. Steve's wings instinctively clench into his back, stiffening and curling in.  
Bucky glances over, his own wings still hanging loosely by his side, even dragging slightly on the concrete.  
'You a'ight, pal?'  
Steve's thin eyebrows set and crease slightly, his lips turning downward into a determined frown.  
'Yea, don't worry 'bout me.'t  
Bucky casts one last long-suffering look at Steve's fiery blue eyes, before they head into the school building with the rising sun glaring at their trailing wings.

'Keep movin' Rogers. This aint you're business.'  
'Well, it's my business now, aint it?'  
Maybe Bucky should've been worried earlier.  
The ringing of the chain link fence cuts at Bucky's ears, and his heart sinks to the bottom of his chest as long lanky limbs and bright blond hair enter his line of vision.  
Goddammit. Can't he go one single day without bloody knuckles?  
The afternoon sun beats down on his wings, warming them, but it's the floating of pale white feathers and taunting jeers that propels him towards the back of the school yard.  
His shoes barely skim the ground as he whirls towards the chain link fence; his wings snapping out and hands curling into fists as the all-too familiar sight of a long body struggling to stand again fills his field of vision.  
Steve, of course, assumes his usual stance after he finally makes it to his feet; tossing his bangs out of his face, bouncing back on his heels, and keeping his fists up. He juts out his bottom lip, showing off his split lip as he spits at a taller kids shoes.  
'Stop pushin' me down.' Steve snarls, and fury settles in Bucky like a sandstorm once again as he nears closer.  
'Why, what you gonna do 'bout it? Don't see your guard dog 'round here anywhere.'  
Duncan, with the slickest hair and shiniest shoes, sneers, looking down at Steve's messy hair and worn shoes with a curled lip. He laughs with his hands tucked into his pockets until a knee connects to his stomach and a fist knocks the sneer right off his face.  
Bucky's fists swing with painful accuracy, and Steve attacks with the ferocity of a hurricane; in the storm of bony knees and flying fists, no one stood a chance.  
The schoolyard is empty, save for the settling feathers and the two of them, and the adrenaline is slowly seeping from their veins.  
'Can't you go one day without a fight, Steve?' Bucky sighs, glancing warily at him and turning away from the chain link fence.  
'Not my fault,' Steve pulls down his sleeve and wipes at the blood slipping down his brow. 'They was pickin' on Bethany, I couldn't just sit there, Buck.'  
Bucky shakes his head, turning out of the gate and stuffing his thumbs in his pockets.  
'You gonna stain your shirt like that.'  
Steve shrugs, ruffling his wings unfurling them to their full length. Bucky’s reminded again by their unusual pale coloring. They’re the whitest wings Bucky’s ever seen (They’re also the scrawniest, but Bucky doesn’t mention this.)  
''Nother fight, Rogers?' Nora shouts out from her porch steps, resting on her broom with her long and wrinkling fingers curled around the top as a chinrest.  
Steve has the decency to duck his head and act ashamed, murmuring out a 'yes ma'am.'  
Bucky scowls, glowering down at Steve's burning red ears.  
'Yes ma'am, he did. And I hadta drag his ass out again!'  
Nora practically cackles, her eyes crinkling and the lines on her face pulling back. Steve steadily grows redder, ruffling his feathers and sticking his hands into his tattered pockets, and Bucky smirks in satisfaction, his own chocolate colored wings fluffing up.  
'Alright,' Nora waves a thin hand and rests her chin back on her broom. 'I'll let you boys go now, don't forget to swing by tomorrow though.'  
The pair nod and call out their goodbyes, waving.  
'Rogers, wait! Tell your ma I said hi!'

 

They make it to the apartment complex without any trouble, occasional stopping to chat with a friend or two. They take the stairs three at a time, hauling their bags behind them.  
‘We stayin’ at your house or mine?’  
Steve shrugs.  
‘I dunno, my mom ain’t home- she got a night shift today.’  
Bucky nods, resting his head in his palms on the railing overlooking the rest of the apartments as Steve pats down his pockets for his house key.  
‘Your house then. Someone taught Becka some new fancy words the other day, and though it sure is cute, they didn’t teach her to shut up.’  
Steve snorts, evolving to start searching on the ground for his key. Bucky eyes him out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow.  
‘Under the brick, remember?’  
‘Oh.’

Bucky watches unimpressed as Steve first stubs his toe kicking the brick over, nearly tripping as he reaches down to clutch at his toe, and finally knocking his head on the railing. Letting out a stream of curses, Steve finally gets the door unlocked, and it opens with a wailing squeak.  
Steve goes in first, heading immediately for the kitchen, while Bucky strolls in after, snatching the magazine that sits idly by the door.  
‘You got any food?’ Bucky sighs and tosses himself onto the couch. There’s a pause as Steve pokes around the cabinets.  
‘Nope.’  
Bucky groans, flipping to the magazine as Steve crosses the room and nudges at his outstretched legs.  
‘Scoot.’  
The next minutes pass peacefully, Steve entertaining himself by tying Bucky’s shoelaces into intricate knots, and Bucky skimming through the magazine with vague interest. Eventually, he reaches the end, and slaps the magazine closed.  
‘To be continued,’ He sighs, tossing the it up onto the back of the couch. ‘In the next issue.’  
Steve hums, confirming the fact that he doesn’t care. The boredom covers them and settles like a woolen blanket.  
‘Y’know,’ Bucky leans his head back against a couch cushion. ‘You’ve still got blood on your eyebrow.’  
.  
.  
.  
Bucky first realizes he might be in love when they’re racing home, soaked shoes and socks in hand while their feet leave wet footprints behind them. They had spent the day at Coney Island, Bucky’s momma having left and given them free reign of the park with strict instructions to stay out of trouble.  
The sun is finishing rising, and just starting it’s slow descent as they round the final corner and slow down. The very tips of their primary feathers sag against the floor as they pause and catch their breath outside the familiar gate. Bucky weaves his fingers together at the nape of his neck, looking up into the clear summer sky and laughing breathily.  
‘Momma’s gonna skin us alive if we don’t get inside before 3.’  
‘You’re right,’ Steve wheezes slightly, glancing up at Bucky from his doubled over form. ‘What time is it anyway?’  
His expectant blue eyes meet Bucky’s, and for a second Bucky forgets to breath. Shit.  
‘Uh,’ he quickly fumbles with the watch on his wrist. ‘2:55.’  
‘Alright,’ Steve takes one last deep breath before pulling himself up and grinning toothily at Bucky.

Steve first realizes he’s fallen head over heels is when he’s 15, turning 16 the next day. They’re at Coney Island again, pockets heavy with change for hot dogs and sugary treats. They have the whole day to themselves, and unfortunately for Steve that means they have the entire day to ride each and every ride- including the Cyclone.  
Currently, Steve’s hotdog is at the bottom of the trashcan he’s doubled over, throwing up his lunch.  
‘I hate you.’ He shoots a glare at his best friend (who attempts a straight face and fails miserably.), swiping a hand over his mouth and straightening his back.  
‘I didn’t know you’d throw up after one go on the Cyclone! That was all you pal.’ Bucky grins up at him, and Steve’s mood lightens just a little.  
‘Fuck you.’  
Steve’s mood gradually lightens after an hour, when his stomach is full again and their change is nearly gone. The sun is a starting to sink into the sky, and the boardwalk is slowly clearing out. The sky above them is smeared with blood reds and oranges, and Steve has an urge to drag his wing across the sprawling colors.  
He glances over at Bucky, who’s squinting into the sky as he walks, wings fluttering and flexing. The brunettes face is illuminated by the burning colors, his hair and feathers darker in the dimming lights.  
Steve was no author, but he could write a thousand words just on how beautiful Bucky looked in the dying lights of the sky.  
.  
.  
.  
Steve's ma died when he was 18, old enough to spread his own wings, but just old enough to need her.  
To Bucky, it had seemed that even the birds mourned her death, singing melancholy songs through the day and night and dropping small flowers by her empty hospital bed.  
The day that Sarah Rogers died was a cold one, filled with the soothing sound of rain against sidewalks and windows. The birds had crowded around the hospital windows, keeping the occupants company in their miserable setting.  
The day that Sarah Rogers was buried, however, was a sunny and warm one, the sun burning bright against Steve and Bucky's wings. The birds flew high through the sky, cutting through the sky on their capable wings, belting out cries as the funeral continued below them.  
The cemetery itself wasn’t gloomy, with the fallen and dying leaves of old oak trees crinkling under each step; but rather the atmosphere that surrounded the quiet funeral radiated a despair and feeling of hopelessness only a funeral can produce. It was small and reserved, the only attendees being the Barneses, a relative that stayed in the corner, and a handful of Sarah’s closest friends from work that had managed to get a break from the hospital.  
At noon, the funeral was over, a rose tossed carelessly onto the casket by Steve while the priest recited a few last excerpts from the family’s well worn bible. His white wings were pulled in tight to his back, feathers stiff as watched the rose on it’s descent to the coffin and dirt. Bucky knew his eyes bore holes into Steve’s head, but Steve’s back still stayed rigid and his jaw remained clenched. His jammed his fist back into his pocket, and avoided Bucky’s gaze as he walked stiffly back to his spot next to Bucky.  
‘Let’s go.’  
‘Alright.’

 

Bucky glanced over at Steve, shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it over his shoulder.  
The usual spark in his eyes was smothered, his long pale bangs falling into his eyes as he cast his face downward. Steve's own jacket was slung across his shoulders, and he kicked at a rock in his path.  
It was like watching a bird try to fly with a broken wing.  
It hurt that he could do nothing but watch as Steve fought tooth and nail to fill the hole his ma left.  
He watched Steve kicking at the rocks in their path out of the corner of his eye, occasionally kicking a rock back or bumping their wings together.  
The noise of Brooklyn was comforting, filling the spaces of conversation between them and surrounding them in a familiar energy. Bucky glanced towards Steve again, who was flexing his feathers and picking at the hem of his jacket. He wanted to do something, anything- he stopped abruptly, reluctantly tearing his gaze from Steve to the apartment he almost passed up.  
‘Steve,’ He kept on walking. ‘Stevie, we’re here. Home.’  
Steve turned on his heel sharply, ducking into the gate that Bucky held open. He squinted momentarily, the sun shining directly overhead into his eyes, and he tossed his wing over his face in an attempt to keep the sun out of his eyes as he walked into the apartment complex after Steve.  
They trudge up the stairs, and Bucky watches him fumble around for his key (the nostalgia of warmer days leave a bitter aftertaste.).  
The door clicks, swinging open quietly (the wail’s gone, replaced with oil and new hinges). Even the soft sounds of the door seem to echo throughout the empty apartment.  
Bucky peers in over Steve’s head, taking notice off the way dust seemed to have settled on the day they’ve been gone. A window is open to the left, light rushing through and illuminating the dust mites that float aimlessly around the air. Even though Sarah herself was rarely around the apartment, always working a different job or night shift, the house seemed empty and lonely.  
Bucky wanted that to change.  
Sure, he knew his best friend needed time to mourn, but it was Bucky’s stubborn belief that the quicker Steve could heal, the quicker he’d see the blue flames burning in Steve’s eyes.

 

 

  
A free bird leaps  
on the back of the wind  
and floats downstream  
till the current ends  
and dips his wing  
in the orange sun rays  
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks  
down his narrow cage  
can seldom see through  
his bars of rage  
his wings are clipped and  
his feet are tied  
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings  
with a fearful trill  
of things unknown  
but longed for still  
and his tune is heard  
on the distant hill  
for the caged bird  
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze  
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees  
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn  
and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams  
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream  
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied  
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings  
with a fearful trill  
of things unknown  
but longed for still  
and his tune is heard  
on the distant hill  
for the caged bird  
sings of freedom.

-[Caged Bird by Maya Angelou ](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/48989)

 

‘What do you mean you don’t know where Steve went?’ Bucky craned his head over the crowd, attempting to catch a glimpse of the mop of blonde hair.  
‘I mean,’ Nelly drawls slowly, crossing her arms over her blouse. ‘I don’t know where your lover boy went.’  
He flushes a bright red, still reaching up on his toes to find Steve, and Nelly’s girlfriend smiles grins, reaching down to grab Nelly’s hand. The two girls talk in low tones, occasionally breaking out in giggles while Bucky looks frantically around the crowded restaurant from their booth hidden in the corner. A thousand scenarios run through Bucky’s head, none of them good, ( and most of them including a dark grimy alley) and he steadily grows more worried.  
‘Barnes,’ Delilah, he thinks is her name, glances at him. ‘Go find your boy before ya’ give yourself a stress ulcer.’ She’s from the south, her a’s drawn out and smooth. He glances down at them, their heads tilted towards each other hands entwined.  
‘You guys sure you’ll be a’ight by yourselves?’  
‘We’re sure, Bucky- we can handle ourselves ‘til you get back with your lover boy.’  
His cheeks burn until he finally exits the joint.  
The cold wind hounds at him, the first winds winter sharp and unforgiving. He tugs his jacket closer, melting into the crowd of the streets even in the dark of night. The people jostle him, and he hurries at a fast pace, stopping only to peek into each separate alley. Bucky has a feeling that Steve is somewhere around here, getting punched at, most likely. Goddammit Steve.  
He’s been walking for 10 minutes when the crowds gradually start to thin, the streets going quieter as the buildings become more disheveled. Exasperated, Bucky wonders how in God’s name Steve Rogers manages to get himself in the fuckiest situations possible. He ducks into every alley, rushing his hand through his previously neat slicked back hair and ruffling his wings worriedly.  
Bucky tugs at the collar of his button down shirt, looking up at the moon hovering on the horizon- a rumbling crash and faint loud voices echo through the streets, and the unmistakable pale white feathers scatter through the air.  
Bucky runs.

The alley is, as Bucky had dreaded, dark and grimy, a trashcan empty on it’s side with distinct white feathers scattered around. With buildings blocking out the bright light of the full moon, it takes Bucky an agonizing second for his eyes to adjust, and he counts three lanky bodies around a smaller, thinner body thrashing his wings aggressively.  
Hell no.

 

With the only available options being fight or flight, Steve (along with the rest of humanity) was cursed with the misfortune of his feet being planted firmly in the ground, which left him with one option. That option just so happened to be the dumber one.  
Steve’s heart pounded in his chest, the only thing louder than the laughs and taunts. They’re fuckin assholes. They think he’s crazy for even attempting to do anything against them, and they’d be right.  
He grits his teeth, unfurling his wings angrily and scrambling for a hold on the wall to pull himself up. He knows he’s easily outmatched three to one, and his lip is split, but there’s no fuckin’ way he’s letting these assholes get away without a bruise to match.  
Steve finally stumbles up onto his feet, thrashing his wings in a struggle to fend off his attackers and protect his face from any punches. It isn’t working, and he snarls as a punch grazes his nose when he ducks a little too late.  
Fuckin’ assholes.  
There are too many fists and elbows flying around him to comprehend, and he’s knocked back towards the brick wall- splitting his lip as he knocks his head and scraping his cheek as he slumps down, disoriented.  
Fuckin’ hell he’s going down like this.  
Steve grits his jaw with a groan, pushing off against the brick wall (now spattered with drops of blood).  
With a growl, he launches himself onto the nearest asshole, thrashing his small wings, kicking, and throwing punches with the ferocity of a tornado. The asshole lets out a yelp of surprise, confused for several seconds before they gain a grasp of what’s going on. Steve snarls, knocking them on the side of their head with his palm. In retaliation, Steve receives a kick to the ribs, and he’s fairly certain is going to leave one hell of a bruise.  
His element of surprise is gone, and he’s hauled off the ground, his shirt bundled up in someone’s fist.  
Shit.

 

Steve stumbles into the apartment, but Bucky’s vice grip on the back of his shirt that keeps him from colliding head first into the floor. He risks a look at the flayed skin on his knuckles, and swallows down bitter bile rising up his throat.  
‘Buck-’  
Bucky doesn’t look at him as he steers him to the bed and practically shoves him onto it.  
‘Where are the bandages?’  
Steve hesitates, ‘Buc-’  
‘Do we got any alcohol?’  
Steve sighs, wincing at the faint twang of his ribs.  
‘Yea,’ he waves a hand in the general direction of the kitchen cabinets. ‘In one of those.’  
Bucky nods stiffly, and Steve watches him warily as he drops down to search for the alcohol that’s hidden somewhere in their sparse drawers.  
Steve waits stiffly on the bed as Bucky flits around the apartment, picking at a scab on his knee and running his tongue around on his split lip. His knuckles are throbbing, and he brings runs his free hand across his nose make sure it’s not bleeding again. There’s a mirror nestled on the bedside table that separates their two beds, and he takes a moment to glance at his reflection, bracing himself for however horrible he must look.  
He looks like he feels- like fucking shit. His eye is purple and swollen, the bruising almost reaching down to his raw and scraped cheek, and his top lip is split while his bottom is slightly swollen. Swallowing, he keeps his eye on the mirror as he extends a wing experimentally, sensitive to any signs that it might be sprained- or worse. The usually white feathers are grimy and discolored, and he flexes out his feathers to make sure his primaries (though they really have no use) are still there. There’s a small chunk missing in his left wing when he checks that one, and it’s sticky with blood, but at least it’s not broken. He toes off his shoes, lifting his left foot up and wincing as pain shoots up his ankle and heel.  
‘Let me see your hands.’ Steve nearly jumps when Bucky appears beside him without warning, bandages and an old bottle of whiskey Steve didn’t even remember them having in his own hands. He complies, and Bucky briskly takes them in his own, tossing the bandages and whiskey on the bed and inspecting them for any injuries apart from the bruised knuckles and scrapes on his palms.  
Bucky retrieves the bandages, wrapping them and tying it roughly. Steve winces as he yanks on the knot.  
‘I think I have some glass in my foot. There was a broken beer bottle and a hole in my shoe.’  
Bucky sighs, kneeling down.  
‘Hand me the whiskey.’  
Steve eyes Bucky, but hands him the bottle anyways. It’s already open, and it sloshes as Bucky tilts the bottle back and takes a swig, grimacing at the taste.  
Steve opens his mouth to say something. Then he closes it.  
‘Foot,’ Bucky holds out his hand, shifting his weight so he can prop Steve’s foot up on his knee. Steve lets him inspect it, and he swallows down the rising bile in his throat as he spots the piece of glass in his heel.  
‘This is gonna sting. Sorry.’  
Fuck. Steve hisses through clenched teeth as the whiskey washes over the open wound, stinging and overall hurting like a bitch.  
‘Shit.’ Steve watches warily as Bucky reaches over and rummages through a drawer, before finding a pair of tweezers and shutting the drawer with a snap.  
‘Where’d you get tweezers from?’  
Bucky meets his eyes finally, re-arranging his grip on Steve’s foot.  
‘Borrowed them from the neighbor last week. Got a splinter in my thumb. Also this might hurt.’  
Steve nods. ‘Oh. That makes sense- wait what- fuck!’  
His foot stings as the glass is yanked out unceremoniously and dumped beside Bucky on the bedside cabinet. His fingers working quickly, Bucky wraps his heel in bandages, tying it off with a bow.  
‘God dammit, give me some fuckin’ warning.’  
Bucky raises an eyebrow, unimpressed and puts Steve’s foot on the floor.  
‘You’re the one who got glass in your foot.’  
Steve shuts his mouth.  
The next few minutes consist of Bucky passive aggressively tending to his cuts.  
‘Take off your shirt.’  
Steve brain crashes to a halt.  
‘Um,’ he stutters, hesitating. ‘Why?’  
Bucky stares at him.  
‘So I can see if your chest is bruised too.’  
‘Oh.’ Well Steve feels like a fuckin’ idiot. He quickly fumbles with his shirt buttons, revealing a blossoming bruise on his chest he hadn’t noticed before.  
‘Alright.’ Bucky leans back so that he’s sitting against his own bed with his legs crossed, staring up at Steve with furrowed eyebrows and an expression Steve can’t read on his face. He fidgets under Bucky’s gaze, stretching his own wings restlessly.  
‘Now is the perfect time for you to tell me what the fuck just happened.’  
Steve winces, his blood running cold, and he suddenly feels very vulnerable under Bucky’s gaze.  
‘I,’ he struggles to find the right words, but for some reason, he can’t string together any of the twenty-six letters in the English alphabet.  
‘I thought I saw someone outside the diner,’ he finally says and he swallows down the disgusting bile that rises in his throat as he remembers the flash of brilliantly blonde hair that glowed so familiar in the growing darkness outside the diner. Bucky watches expectantly, his expression a little more worried than annoyed now.  
‘I didn’t,’ he hesitates, glancing down to pick at the bandages on his knuckles. ‘But there was a girl by an alley I passed. She had a dog, but she was all by herself.’  
Bucky opens his mouth to say something, and Steve waits, but he closes it quickly.  
‘There were a few drunks that I guess had been passing by and saw her.’ He feels himself getting worked up again as her face passes through his mind, frightened yet fiercely determined and angry. The face was familiar now that he looked back. (He leaves this out of his story. Along with the way her wings looked just as familiar, small and pale in the dark alley.)  
‘So I punched one of ‘em and ran.’ Bucky’s eyebrows jump to his hairline.  
‘What? Why the fuck-’  
‘I couldn’t just let ‘em harass that girl! She ain’t do nothing! And that way they’d follow me instead of her!’ If this were any of situation, Steve would’ve been proud at his quick thinking. But, this wasn’t any other situation.  
Bucky narrows his eyes.  
‘That’s the absolute dumbest thing you’ve ever done.’  
Steve throws his hands into the air.  
‘What was I supposed to do? Leave her alone to suffer?’ Bucky pushes himself up, eyebrows furrowed and mouth a thin line, and Steve feels his blood start to heat.  
‘I don’t know! Just not get fuckin’ beat up!’  
‘At least I did something!’ They’re yelling now, each of their words cutting deep into the other’s skin, burning and festering in their minds.  
‘You’re Ma told me to protect you,’ Bucky clenches his jaw and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Yet here we are.’  
Steve puffs his wings up, recoiling.  
‘Leave her out of this.’  
They both back off, settling down into a tense silence that settles around them like a dust storm.  
Minutes tick by that feel like hours, and Bucky sighs, settling down on the floor in front of Steve, whose jaw is clenched tightly.  
‘You don’t have to get me out of all those fights.’ Steve mutters. ‘I can get out of them fine by myself.’  
Bucky runs a hand through his hair, stretches his wings and flexing it anxiously.  
‘You’ve got no sense of self preservation. And because I- you’re my best friend.’  
[Steve glances down at Bucky, who suddenly looks so much younger and so much more vulnerable than he should.](http://i.imgur.com/ldUqoJv.png)  
‘I guess you’re right.’  
.  
.  
.  
'C'mon. We ain't gonna miss anything, promise!' Bucky reassured Steve, tugging him out of the movie theater and into the lobby. Steve protested half-heartedly, stumbling and tripping as Bucky hauled him out of the building.  
Bucky flung him out the doors and into the night, stepping out after him. Steve regained his footing quickly, straightening up as they both assumed their trademark stances with their hands stuffed in their pockets.  
'Buck,' Steve glanced over at his excited friend, dreading whatever horrible idea might come next. 'Where are we going?'  
Bucky grinned brightly. That wasn't a good sign.  
'We're gonna see some fireworks.'  
Steve was very much fucked.

'How'd you even get us on the roof, thought no one was allowed?' Steve asked, stealing a bit of Bucky's sandwich.  
'Pulled a few strings.' Bucky shrugged, stealing some of Steve's sandwich in revenge.  
'Oh.'  
The sun, resting on the horizon, cast hues of oranges and pinks, giving the sky a fiery soft look. Steve's legs dangled over the edge, and the soft wind tinkled his feathers. Bucky sat next to him, still devouring the sandwiches they had bought on the way to the roof.  
It was peaceful, the sun still tugging at their wings and the whole of Brooklyn spread out beneath them.  
Steve spared Bucky a glance, and their eyes met for, before he quickly ducked his head again, a blush slowly working it's way onto his cheeks. Bucky's eyes widened slightly, and he flushed, quickly averted his eyes and instead focused on the sun that was quickly sinking farther down into the horizon.  
The sun dipped low below the horizon, the last slivers of sunlight burning valiantly as the dark blue night inched across the sky.  
Bucky’s eyes involuntarily drifted down towards Steve’s pink cheeks, the remaining light hitting his blond hair and giving it an angelic glow. He felt his breath leave him, and his cheeks heat up, his pulse quickening dramatically. Steve turned his head up, drawing his legs up and sucking in a breath.  
He stared up at him underneath his lashes, his face flushed and lit up with the soft remaining rays of the sun’s light.  
Never had love felt so beautiful.  
The first firework went off behind them, but they didn’t notice, their eyes focused on each other and each other only. Slowly they leaned closer, Steve’s cheeks burning a bright red as his eyes slid closed and he tilted his chin upwards. They each released a quiet breath, their rough lips met in the soft dying rays of the sun’s light, and they each realized, that they had spent so much time struggling to fly that they forgot how to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic came out so much different than i intended. *quietly contemplates life in the corner* i had fun with this tho


End file.
